Jake's Wake (3 page)

Not a problem, as far as Eddie was concerned. But it also revealed how tight her shoulders were, how stiffly she carried herself as she tried to hang on.

And the drinking helped only up to a point, which was closing in fast.

Something clearly had to be done.

“Esther,” he said, just loud enough to be heard without startling her.

“What?”

“Come look.”

She looked up and smiled thinly. “It’s beautiful. Now could you help me…?”

“No, no.
Uno momento
.”

Her voice wound high and taut. “Eddie.”

“Please. Put the knife down and come here.”

Then he winked at her, lightly slapped his fingertips on his thighs, and said the word she liked to hear.
“Querida.”

Esther paused, knife quivering in her white-knuckled hand.

She found herself stuck—as was so often the case, these days—in this horrible moment of hesitation, between what she thought she ought to be doing, and what she
knew
she ought to do.

It was the old head-versus-heart argument she’d always had, only now it was shared, and so alien, precisely because it was how it should be. She lived in her head, as usual.

And Eddie, God bless him, was the heart.

Esther had been slicing sharp cheddar cheese into neat, symmetrical cracker-sized slabs. She already had far more than was needed—lord knew hunger was the furthest thing from her mind—but the process was somewhere between Zen and fixation. Something she could do right now. Something with actual results.

Meanwhile, her mind was racing, not meditative at all. More like the restless wind outside, disturbing everything while settling on nothing…

But her mind finally found a safe harbor, and came to rest on Eddie, solid and kind.

Just looking at her, with only love in his eyes.

It was embarrassing to be seen that clearly, that knowingly, and not feel judged. Embarrassing to be caught freaking out. But also unspeakably heartening.

Because the fact was that he really cared.
Really cared.
Even with all her faults, her stupid decisions and horrible mood swings and many, many weaknesses.

He cared enough to help her through. To hold her close. To back her moves.

He cared enough to make her feel like a beautiful woman, and more…a beautiful
person
.

And there he was, smiling as if to say that she had already won.

If only that were true…

Esther looked down at the knife in her trembling hand, then looked at the veins in her paper-thin wrists. Cheese, shmeese. She could slice through those things in an instant, and all of this would be done.

Instead, she put down the knife. Grabbed her scotch. Swigged hard. And exited the kitchen, stage left.

Eddie looked up at her and smiled as she came to kneel beside him, sipped, set down her glass. He was strong and compact, and he hugged her well, looking so handsome in his dress shirt and jacket. As if he had been hired to work this event. Which, in a sense, he had.

She sighed, jittery, settled into his embrace. Closed her eyes, then found herself staring into the fire.

“Oh, Eddie,” she almost moaned. “You know they’re going to be here soon…”

“Shhhh…”
he said, and turned her face toward his, tender. His steady green-flecked brown eyes fed her a steady flow of trust. She sensed how hard he was trying to be strong.

But she was scared, and he was scared for her, and there was no getting around that fact.

So when he kissed her, warm and full, it did almost everything a kiss should do.

The shadows shifted behind them, as the rude glare of headlights shone through the stained glass door. They could hear a car pull up, and they nervously patted themselves down, and wiped away lipstick traces. It was showtime.

“Just tell me it’s gonna be all right,” Esther said.

“It’s gonna be all right, okay?”

She nodded, and he kissed her softly.

“I swear.”

She trembled, and they nodded to each other as he stood, then helped her up, smiling as he stooped to pick up her glass and take his place at the bar.

Leaving Esther these precious last moments.

To rally herself, before the flood.

The tidy little white sedan pulled timidly into the dirt parking lot, as if afraid to stop here on a night like this. It eased to a halt beside Esther’s SUV, but did not cut the engine. Gospel music played softly inside, as if to dispel the gloom. The headlights glared, kicking long shadows through the yard.

Emmy Patton sat at the far corner of the passenger seat, nearly pressed against the door. She avoided her gaze in the rearview mirror. She had no use for makeup. She was not proud—and frankly, pretty enough to get along without it—but she knew her face right now looked like a paper bag full of rain.

She’d held it in all day, through the endless police interview, the harassing calls from the IRS, and then the service. It fell to her to organize and preside over the outpouring of grief as Jake’s congregation of the airwaves said good-bye.

It had seemed selfish to break down when so many lost souls needed guidance to make it through the day without getting roaring drunk and fighting in the chapel. It had seemed wrong, too, to cry in front of those people.

But she was only twenty-two, and this level of tragedy was new to her. She was a sheltered small-town girl from
a nice Southern Baptist family, a straight “A” student with a major in business, and how she had wound up dealing with all this madness was almost beyond her imagining.

So if she cried now, who couldn’t understand? Jesus did, certainly. But as for the rest, she felt judged for her feelings. As if it were wrong to believe so strongly, in someone or something.

And that didn’t help, not at all.

So she sat there, traumatized, frozen in place, not even crying: just staring out through the windshield at the house, with fear brimming in her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Mathias turned sideways in the driver’s seat, pointedly averting his hangdog eyes, popping his knuckles and steepling his fine pianist’s fingers on the steering wheel. He was a thin, gangly young man, slightly younger than her, also clean-cut, sheltered, and incredibly nervous.

Emmy said nothing, and neither did he. She knew he meant well, but she sure couldn’t feel it.

She felt a bit of calm as she fixed her gaze on the stained glass window in the front door. It was beautiful, churchlike, beguiling, the pure liquid colors animated by the glow of dancing firelight, while the music bled from one syrupy proclamation of chaste Christian love into another.

It struck her funny, in a way she’d never let herself laugh at, how easily most of these born-again ballads would become standard semipornographic pop songs if you just changed Jesus to a girl’s name. Like Rhonda.

Or Emmy
, she added, chastening herself.

The fact was, everybody had weakness and wounds to overcome. That was just God’s truth. The essence of sin was a falling-short of the glory of God, and all humankind was guilty.

But was it not a very special sort of sin to transpose your base sexual feelings onto the love of the Lord?

She didn’t know the answer—was deeply struggling with how to ask the question—but she knew it was sinful to sit in judgment on the music on the radio. And promptly apologized, in her heart.

“Emmy,” Mathias said, a little louder this time. “You know, we can just turn around.” He shifted the car into reverse, let off the brake just a little.

The jerky motion shook her out of her reverie. She turned to him sharply.

“No!”

He stepped on the brake, shrunk back as if stung. She shook her head, and he put it back into park.

“The church is my responsibility now. You have to understand that. You have to respect my…my
responsibility
.” Her voice went up half an octave at the end.

“I know. It’s just that…”

“It’s not just what we want, Mathias. You know that.”

“I know, but…”
You’ve done enough for him today
, she knew he wanted to add, and it made her want to scream. Her hand reached for the volume knob, ready to turn it up and cover the sound.

Then she caught herself. Took the proverbial deep breath. And shot him the very best smile she could gather, uniting them around what mattered.

“We have to do what’s right by the Lord,” she said.

Mathias nodded in defeat, and turned the key.

The engine cut off, along with the music. The headlights shut off, plunging the yard into deeper darkness. The ticking of the engine was like jumping beans in a coffee can. Aside from the wind, it was the only sound.

They exited the car and started walking toward the door, Emmy pacing ahead with her lips pursed and eyes locked on the glimmering stained glass. She could feel Mathias behind her, with his arms half out, as if she might faint and need catching.

Indeed, she did feel faint, felt the world turn unreal.
The wind soughed and whistled through the eaves of the long, low house, bone-gray oak leaves swishing around her feet and the clankity, old-fashioned playground equipment.

She had a terrible, visceral sense, just then, of a deeper shadow in the dark. As if something unseen were swooping over them, watchful and malign.

Then the front door opened, and a woman in black appeared, genial and smiling.

“Hello. You must be Emmy.”

“Mrs. Connaway.”

“Call me Esther. Thank you so much for coming.”

Mathias and Emmy entered stiffly. Esther closed the door, ushered them toward a small couch.

The living room was dimly lit and sparsely furnished, with pale yellow walls and age-stained lamp shades that muzzled the light. Uneasy shadows from the fireplace danced on the walls.

A handsome Latino in a
guayabera
shirt was tending the fire. He turned and smiled at them. Emmy nodded in his direction, then looked at Mathias. Adrift in his own anxiety, he quickly picked up on her unasked question.
Who in the world is that?

“Please have a seat,” Esther said. “Can we get you something to drink?”

“Nothing for me, thank you,” Emmy said. Her eyes bounced around the unfamiliar room in search of an anchor.

That’s when she noticed the pictures on the mantel above the fireplace.

“I’d like a ginger ale?” Mathias said, but she barely heard him. Her focus was locked on one picture in particular.

A framed wedding portrait.

Of Esther.

And Jake.

Dear God
, Esther thought, as the tears welled up in the young girl’s eyes. She felt it welling up inside herself, flinched against it…

…and then the sobbing began
, Emmy balling up on the couch and wailing. Her young companion awkwardly tried to comfort her, but clearly did not know how.

Esther cast a
help me
glance at Eddie, then rapidly yanked it back.

The fire roared and leapt out of its bed, as if the wind gusting down the chimney had turned to kerosene.

Eddie sprang into action. “Okay! Ginger ale for you. Ms. Esther?”

“Please.”

Eddie went to the kitchen to fetch the drinks.

Emmy was still sobbing. “I’M SO SORRY! I’m so sorry…I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this…”

“It’s okay…” Esther said.

“I can’t believe he’s actually dead!”

Esther was tearing up, as well. “I know…”

Suddenly, both of them were crying: Esther just standing there, trying gallantly to hold it in, Emmy doubled over and not even trying, both rendered equally ridiculous by grief.

Esther watched Eddie bring the young man his ginger ale, nobody speaking a word. Eddie clearly ached to hold Esther, but that was out of the question. Not in front of the others.

So he just gave her the drink.

As the wind whipped up outside.

And for a moment, the lights flickered and dimmed, as if the power might go out.

Outside, a vast, dark cloud engulfed the moon, giving too much substance to the almost living shadows racing rampant across the desert plains. There were spirits in the air to night, rising up and reaching out as if to swallow the world.

There were spirits in the house, as well, coursing invisibly through the forbidden regions, the locked rooms, the cold spots no fire could warm.

Throbbing, formless fury, but growing and regaining castoff shapes as they fed on the residue of pain and poisoned memories stored up in those walls.

Feeling the walls, and the walls within walls. Feeling caged. But not for much longer.

They wrapped themselves around the knob of the locked door at the end of a long dark corridor, the stubborn steel turning to ice in their shadow hands, and managed to turn it, very slightly.

And that was great, but it was only the beginning.

They passed through the door and floated down the long corridor to the edge of the living room, crowded as near as they dared to the withering glare of the fireplace
.

Close to the living voices that grew louder and more strident, as if they knew exactly what the shadows fed upon, and were resolved to give them a feast.

The bonding portion of to night’s encounter was clearly at an end. Now they were getting down to it, and the only warmth came from the roaring flames.

“But here’s what you have to understand,” Esther was saying. “Jake and I had an arrangement…”

“…to keep the church separate from your daily lives,” Emmy finished. “I understand that. That’s why—”

Esther cut her short with a wave that almost slopped her drink. “The problem is—I’m sorry—but the fact is that he didn’t.”

“The church is a registered non-profit…”

“Yes, but he was dipping into assets that weren’t covered by that at all. My personal assets—”

Emmy’s turn to interrupt. “That’s your own concern.”

“Well, yes it is. But since he declared them ‘church expenses’ whether they actually were or not…”